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Steve D'Beard Jun 2014
crystal - clean - clear - concise - cold
the juncture
the fracture
the untold stories
the harp crafted in mildew

so many things
so many many bits of things
square and curved and round things
and roads of never ending things
lots and lots and lots of things

the things would stretch
from here <
> way into the distance
to really really really
..........................................................­...................................  small things

dreams
defrosting
like tomorrow's chicken
waiting
to be cooked with love
unfold its
crispy juiciness

call me crazy
feel free
get in the queue
turn it up to 10
make yourself comfortable
gimme another shot
if there's something I do know

**we have time
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
with him included? the devil's dozen, or
the 13 -
             then the hours of Horus:
noon - Simon Peter -
later with covenant
of the hour: holy spirit,
and the minute hand: son
                       and the second hand: the father
oh quiet the trinity handful,
given year zero -
            hours 12 through to 1
Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew,
Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas

                                    s / p.
                    s.                                 a.
                   θ.                                      j.
                  j.                     Δ                     j.  
                         m.                                  p.
                                             b.

look at the ******* clock! something's awry!
Simon peter 12
     Andrew 13
        James 14
                   John 15 (3 a.m. / p.m.)
       Philip 16
         Bartholomew 17 (5 p.m.)
        Thomas 18 (six)
                         Matthew 19 (seven)
                James (ibn Alφaeus) 20 (eight)
     "θ" (nine),
                  Simon K9'ite - ten
          Iscariot - eleven     - clocks are wrong...
the year 0 a.d. is based on this,
               twelve disciples, twelve hours a.m. / a.d.
and                                              v.  
                                                 p.m. / b.c.,
   hence the trinity / Δ -
an hour for the holy spirit to catch on,
son monetises the minutes
and the father being omnipresent understands within
seconds...
                       but i was aiming to do justice to the harvest missed
last year, i was intending to make wine;
hence the list of ingredients,
a) wine yeast;
             b) yeast nutrient:
                                diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid, magnesium carbonate,
   thiamine hydrochloride, zinc sulphate, ferrous
ammonium sulphate, biotin;
   c) pectolase:
                    pectinase enzyme, dextrose monohydrate;
d) bruclens cleaner / steriliser:
                   sodium percarbonate;
  e) fine fining A: silica sol,
                  "      B: chitosan (derived from crab and shrimp
shells, contains sodium metabisulphite)
                 f) two months' worth of patience.
it's that time of the year where you make wine
(just a little bush, enough for 12 bottles) -
and gestapo a curry -
                                   a tarka dhal
and a kheralan chicken with coconut milk...
i love when **** decays, it tastes better than
when **** blossoms and isn't exactly edible
but merely colourful.
rook  Mar 2015
prozac
rook Mar 2015
little and blue and two different shades of
something i love
it stuck in my throat the way my words always do
and later i read the description
the guide
and fluoextine hydrochloride may increase suicidal thoughts
isn't that what we were trying to get rid of?
why take it
at all?
or why only one
only once
a day
because the odds are 40 to 1
Jesse Alexander Sep 2014
once all my hope was lost
I realized it was never even there
just an intangible creation of my psyche
formed to stabilize my sanity
preventing me to break down over not having what the hope is there for

it filled me up deeply and widely
dissolving everything that used to be there and defecting a massive hole with it's departure
burning away at the rest of my insides
as if I'd downed a liter of hydrochloride acid

I try to fill up the gap
But everyone that I try to let in unintentionally corrodes in the acid
I look up to the man that instilled hope on this world
I beg him to take away the emptiness
But how can someone that doesn't exist take away something that isn't there?
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
oh man, i'm high...
i've been complaining about this phlegm for some time...
i wake up... cough up... this gluttonous
itch... my throat aches...
thick... smacker of a yellow bile exceeds
the need for the throat and nose to keep it..
"keep it"... i snorkel... i gush blood...
through the nostril... it's not enough...
it's not because of the unprotected ***
i've had, with a *******? is it?
it is? Artimesia: mugworts... you what?
she's hard to find?
whatever... i'm sort of high...
high on the jack and...
     paracetamol 500mg,
            pseudophedrine hydrochloride (30mg)...
pholcodine (5mg).... E129...
    promethazine hydrochloride (10mg),
dextromethorphan hydrobromide (7.5mg)...
oh man... i'm high...
what's left?
TYROZETS...
          tyrothricin and benzocaine: so no... cloves?
once upon a time i'd put a clove bud on one of my
broken teeth to indulge in... an aesthetic...
it did work...
         take the law into your own hands...
it happened once...
the four of us were walking down a street...
a car pulls up... a **** jumps out...
       steals my friend's phone...
drives off...
   i tell one companion... write this number plate down...
we go to the police station:
or, rather: i reluctantly...
*******... we're going to the police station...
we're going to report this...
i report the incident... since i already memorised
the number plates on the car...
months later...
  i'm sitting in a police station looking at mug-shots...
find the **** ******...
spot on...
           i get his mug right...
he's not even drinking tea...
but the actual person in question...
pretends... ****** ******* victim...
         i'm looking at the mug-shot but at the same time...
does my "friend" have any *******?!
to begin with?
       / did?
              obviously i'm the only person who
can identify the culprit... we get to court...
i'm standing... the ******* leech of a being
is in the dock... his lawyer comes up...
shows me... the "uncertainty" i placed certainty into
the mug-shot identification...
the lawyer shows me the perp's picture...
odd... "back in the day": a date used to be blistered onto
the photograph...
he asks me... you recognise this person?
i look at the picture... bad move... while first looking
at the judges... before looking at the date...
but... this is... 3 years old, no?
in 3 years time... i could be... donning a beard, no?!

******* drive-by **** mobile-phone jacking...
and that's what? excuses?!
borrowing more excuses, because of, what?!
ethnic sentimentality?!
oh right to **** with you lot...
******* *****...
          
or like last time... peer-group courts...
liable... a girl lies about you being drunk on the job...
like i told her coworker on the job...
the proverb: liars don't walk on stilts...
lies don't walk on stilts...
lies walk on short legs... i implored them:
wait... wait...
            i went round... homemade wine...
some homemade banana loaf cake...
i was willing to bring a vinyl record...
        hmm... peer group courtroom...
             nice... i could complain... but then Khedra emerged...
lips like tulip petals...
it's funny how justice works...
when... everyone has agreed upon:
i don't trust politicians,
i don't trust journalists, i don't trust the police...
hell... better i trust myself...
but if you're being tried for libel...
       "tried"...
      if you're being falsely accused...
thank god it wasn't one of those #metoo moments...
but it, could have, been...
       thank god some seriously honest women
were involved to counter any furthering
of the Salvador Dali development toward
the surreal / absurd...
       what were those words...
better a **** in heaven...
than a super-**** in hell...
        mind you... i'm having both...
i'm just not touching the **** in the middle...
because: hell... middle is middle...
the mediocre: problem(s)...
                         but i waited... i waited like...
any curious predator...
waited for the girls to eat each other...
                    it wasn't going to be fair on someone subjected
to a liable sue... i'm not paying money for
lawyers... ergo? peer group pressure...
wait... just... wait... get enough people on your side...
sure... i fancied this girl...
but... that fancy... quickly exhausted itself...
me? drunk?! on the job?!
defamation?! what's next?! allow her to suppose
a quest in: he ***** me! he ***** me!
oh... no... this is not going to stand!
enough! is enough!
                 our current society can't provide the sort
of law that we expect...
it, can't...
it's too scared by blisters of... calling **** for what
it is... *****: **** **** **** ****...
gracias... ******* too:
you ******* *****-feeders.

p.s.
- tosh -
alchemist:
alchemical milsch.
Vitamin B1 (thiamine)
Vitamin B2 (riboflavin)
Vitamin B3 (niacin or niacinamide)
Vitamin B4 (adenine)
Vitamin B5 (pantothenic acid)
Vitamin B6 (pyridoxine, pyridoxal, or pyridoxamine, or pyridoxine hydrochloride)
Vitamin B7 (biotin)
Vitamin B8 (Iadenosine monophosphate, or alternately myo-inositol)
Vitamin B9 (folic acid)
Vitamin B10 (Pteroylmonoglutamic acid)
Vitamin B11 (Salicylic acid)
Vitamin B12 (various cobalamins; commonly cyanocobalamin in vitamin supplements)
Vitamin B13 (orotic acid)
Vitamin B14 (metabolite of xanthopterin)
Vitamin B15 (Pangamic acid, also called pangamate)
Vitamin B16 (Dimethylglycine)
Vitamin B17 (Amygdalin)
Vitamin B18
Vitamin B19
Vitamin B20 (Carnitine)
Vitamin B21

Vitamin Bh – another name for (biotin)
Vitamin Bm ("mouse factor") – also used to designate Inositol
Vitamin Bp (Choline) –
Vitamin Bt (L-carnitine) –
Vitamin Bv – a type of B6 but not Pyrodoxine
Vitamin Bw – a type of Biotin but not d-Biotin
Vitamin Bx – another name for PABA (para-Aminobenzoic acid)

All B vitamins are water soluble, and are dispersed throughout the body and must be replenished daily with any excess excreted in the ***** (which turns a bright yellow color).
Freedom from onset of pervasive gloom
(attendant with profusely perspiring palms,
hut tree men duh us aggravation), would be
a dog send to this melon collie bow wow
wing **** sapien aging baby boomer.

I already attend weekly counseling (no
weeknd) in tandem with experiencing
alleviation linkedin to severe anxiety,
depression, obsessive compulsive disorder.

Courtesy of father's litte helpers (Buspirone
Hydrochloride Tablets 15 mg twice daily,
Clonazepam 0.5mg tablet once daily,
Clomipramine 50 mg once daily, Fluoxetine

HCL 20 mg once daily, and Fluoxetine HCL
40 mg twice daily), prescription medications
considerably diminish disabling severity to
function, which afflicted yours truly soon
after being borne circa January thirteenth mcmlix.

Beset with psychological distress manifested
by physiological symptoms nsync with Inxs
adrenaline triggering heart palpitations, irritable
bowel syndrome, nausea, and vertigo said
unrelenting panic attacks considerably less

immobilizing prior to readily assenting to rely
on synthesized biochemical pharmacologically
manufactured as the next best option verses,
(no gallows humor pun intended) "magic bullet"
triggered by presed firearm.

Despite medicare coverage to acquire manufactured
selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, as a benefit
long since being deemed eligible to receive social
security disability, every now and again mine
mental health state pitched into abysmal despair,
an emotional nadir fraught with greater predilection
to inflict permanent self-harm possibly...premature demise.

Ah...without cloud crowdsourcing doubt, this mortal
man would hanker to plead within his genuine schizoid
personality disordered body to become free and clear
of life figuratively weighed down with bajillion pound
millstone gravely dark shadows synonymous with edge

of night prevalent with outer limits of twilight zone.
While awaiting (with increasing anticipation), which
salvation I can never ketchup with will find me
steadfastly, (albeit grudgingly) popping pills.

Plus, this holistic hombre resorts to transcendental
medication and physical exercise incorporating two
(one for each hand) dumbbells.

Meantime...an effort to seek succor availed sought out
by The Wizard of Ozzy Osbourne (waiver place he lives).
Hmmm most certain, he would be most accessible
upon a Black Sabbath.

If not him...this schlepper will trod along the boulevard
of broken dreams, yes - most definitely on a greenday.

Ever the cautious optimist, aye hopefully stumble across
an antiquated lantern pleasantly surprised when (after
carefully dusting off accumulated detritus), a garden
variety genii unexpectedly appears.

She/he, (perhaps after transgender reassignment
originally a him/her), would bewitch and spellbind
me after asking "wiccan I do for you," and deliver
immediate coveted ampoule, essentially a placebo.

Peace at last, plus long and fostered relief from
agonizing mental torture.
    
Without doubt, a greater probable chance more
favorable for this luckless male to win lottery (even
just a paltry million dollars), despite steep odds,
as opposed feeling akin to Atlas bearing weight
of world wide web!

Please feel free to toss pennies, nickels, dimes...
into virtual Fountain Head.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
title: beetroot
body:
red: pulpit:
sclera:
avoidance white.

bellum contra influenza usus frigus:
war against the flu using the cold...
   sure, even Socrates famously meditated in the cold...
i only had one meditation this time round:
get me... of this weak-bed! get me off it!
i'm not going to be weak when spring comes!
more cold! give me a hailstorm!
                     i'll cure myself using cold weather!


you get sick for about 5 days, it's really rough,
you test positive for Covid... but it's not Covid...
it's just this freak flu... your bones ache,
your muscles ache... you're lethargic...
you're ****** with yourself that you're so weak...
but you still go and do two grueling shifts
at Wembley... strange April cold... the wind is
bothering you... but...
    that's how the cold helps...
   sure, taking a mixture of paracetamol 500mg),
promethazine hydrochloride (10mg),
dextromethorphan hydrobromide (7.5mg)
does help... but nothing helps against a cold...
or the flu... as... doing a grueling shift of standing on
your feet for about 10 hours, getting bashed
by the wind gusts... the rain...
          it sort of reminded me of that saying:
fight fire with fire... well... fight the flu / a cold...
with more cold...
      it worked... i ploughed through...
the muscle aches are gone, the bone pains are gone...
the lethargy is gone...
i was cooking again today... making my father lunch...
i can't wait for tomorrow...
i'll be working in the garden un-******* all
the wooden decking, peering inside at the rot...
before a patio is going to be installed...
   wood... eh... it lasts a good decent decade...
   that's going to change...
hell... 3 days... 4 days of feeling ****...
   but if the medication isn't working...
         time for something ancient...
              find the bug with... cold weather...
                  more pressure... more pressure... more!
10 hours standing coordinating people...
3 hours on a bicycle feels like less strain than standing
up like a soldier at an unknown soldier's memorial...
no one some of them drop down from exhaustion...
your arms - shoulders are strained...
pompous ******* role...
                  but i appreciate this is unimaginative
writing... it really is... i have still retained the blocked
nose and the cough...
as the saying goes... an untreated cough and blocked
nose lasts 14 days...
a treated cough and block nose lasts 2 weeks...
you heard me correctly... it's unavoidable...
but pulverise this little **** in me that's hitchhiking
with conditions unsuitable for it...
let some bigger virus scare it...
                       and to think: sometimes i'd look forward
to sitting down with a bottle of whiskey
and scribbling anything down...
now... i'm thinking about Sunday...
   and whoever West Ham are playing...
                   about going among people and playing
my role as the serious silent type...
surrounded by people who... as of yet...
haven't talked much at work except for work...
no chance of talking about... anything... really...
i dare say: Heidegger's hammer is  bad joke...
could i talk to someone about philosophical matters
on the job? hell... music... could we talk about music?
could a ******* wheel of a car "talk"
about the temperature of the road at noon in June?
to... the car's engine... hyperbolic language...
i'm still not ready to return to being fully possessed
of my mind... but my senses are more focused...

- and its like these moments when recovering from
an illness that might shave off a decent proportion
of the population in their 80s...
if i didn't go into the cold... and instead...
cowered in my bed sheets... in the warmth:
perfecting breeding ground for this little bug to
build up a collective ego... a refocus...
     but why do i write this? i'm comforted by the existence
of tabloid journalism...
sure... i'm using up the energy of a light-bulb to
scribble this down... but i'm not chopping down
a tree to make some paper...
          why does a song like British Warm by
Normil Hawaiians have only 2.2K views...
what am i going to do with my time?
watch t.v.? i like drinking and looking into the distance...
at shadows... at trees without leaves...
at brick walls... perching on a windowsill...
smoking a cigarette... scribbling...
    i literally having nothing better to do...
it's not even that those respected poets on
poetry-foundation.org are anything to go by...
so politicised...
                sure... perhaps this is a waste of time...
but at least i'm not watching t.v.:
just this blank screen upon which words appear
from my itchy finger tips... i scratch my head:
try not to think...
        i take comfort in not being married...
it's only sinking in: right about now...
   if i think about having to keep dates... dinner dates...
keeping conversation with "friends"...
last time i tried that... i ws ushered off into the gutter...
he brought out a pretend violin:
brushing it all off... i know he too had problems...
i was willing to listen... but he wasn't willing
to talk... right there and then... i thought: **** it...
i'm not willing to meet up and watch movies
with you, while you smoke marijuana and i drink
a beer... i raised my hands high up in the air...
and then dropped them down: crescendo style...
an expression of: c'est la vie!
at this point... i don't think it would be:
even remotely... a good idea to have friends...
what... when an hour with a *******
suffices?! now i'm like... talk... about what?!
i can exercise my needs on this canvas...
                and i'm happy with that...
                        well... if not happy: then certainly
not sad... i'll go see ol' Thames at Coldharbour -
or at Putney Bridge...
  i'll go into Bower Wood and say hello
to the forest by knocking a firm branch against
a pillar of a dead tree...
                       if only this climate could allow
living off of pine-nuts and other such gatherings...
i think i would...
   society doesn't phase me...
                        
the world continues to do its little spin on and off of
crazy... i tried watching the first 30 minutes
of... about 4 different movies...
pretty woman, four weddings and a funeral,
Notting Hill... some other...
instead tuned into the tennis at the Miami ATP...
that too started to bore me...
i was thinking about the next shift...
doing... **** all... beside...
putting on a mask and pretending to be nice,
pretending to be polite to spectators...
bouncing around their enthusiasm...
      it's not even like i don't care:
but i just don't care about the sort of care they think
i might provide...
i care about what i'm willing to give...
rather than what they might receive...
clearly... i'm fooling them...
since... eh... long story...

                          but at least this is not the tabloid press...
i'm "bored" of living with people
of grandiose self-importance syndromes...
just give me a ******* drill... some decks to unscrew...
stack them high... stack them low...
the best health is found bound
to interacting with people one day...
and a day... say... spent... chopping wood...
dealing with inanimate objects...
you can't mould these: esp. if you're trying to salvage
them... and then... return to animate objects...
people... the sanctity of silence...
why... would i be talkative about work
when i'm doing it?
              sorry... what sort of ******* is necessary
to mingle, "correctly"?

                    i figured... as long as you're not at work
trying to waste someone's time... that's enough...
do what you're supposed to do and... *******...
and my ****** mistake...
of fancying a girl who started working...
i played a tight game...
            liars don't walk on stilts...
                        what a waste of a homemade wine...
i should have drank that...
since i made it...
                   tough... well... one less spell of dandruff...
so... a win... considering i still managed
to find the best **** i was searching for for the past
14 years... yawn...
but at least! at least: no chance of a #metoo backlash...
yawn...

         scribble so more... well... i'm hardly built
for writing a Dr. Zhivago... honestly?
the film was spectacular... the book?
                                  honestly? well obviously i'm not
looking for Sveedish applause towards a Nobel...
am i? but the book? compared to the movie?
sort of falls short...

most of the time when surrounded by people:
it's so comforting to be around yourself...
being solaced by an apron of silence...
when you talk with only grimaces...
you hold sway with non-verbal cues...
     it's so comforting to not talk when you're
otherwise prompted to talk and
you're like: huh?!

i look at it from a lens...
a lot of 1960s American culture... the whole
state of Israel wouldn't have happened...
if the Holocaust didn't take place...
crude, rude... the world keeps knocking at my door
and i'm like:
and what the **** do you want?
what ****** liberation? what great / grand
awakening?
i'm scribbling toward 12am to subsequently
fall asleep to... listening to...
le chant des templiers... because...
i don't have a wife: because i can...

                     i like the idea of a wife...
but... the chains of being perpetually needed...
to have this persistent call for company...
it's sort of... itchy... always having to need
someone... what great new upheaval will /
might generate a mighty cultural influx of
creativity... and then the outlier that
always come late to the "party"...
the Sons of Sam... etc.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i acknowledge that some of this is a delusion, but if it's only inscribed in thinking: and hurting never hurt anyone... if thinking doesn't translate into action... it can come: it can go as it pleases... as long as that feral creature: ego... can be tamed awhile... i'm all for it... then at least i know some of its needs are met... i guess the feral creature: ego... is best fed delusions...

the time of year has finally come to make wine...
this year's harvest has been terrible...
my vines seem to be stricken with a disease:
a botanical parasite of sorts...
it's not exactly the cancerous growth of mistletoe...
but the vine started to outreach with its sickness
to a nearby plum tree: and the plum tree grew
sick...
it wasn't the same sickness when "translated"
but at least the plum tree came out with
a good yield...
beside all the usual garden requirements
i managed to render in... circa 10kg of grape pulp...
which equates subsequently to:
circa 2.5 gallons of worthy juice...
finally! autumn! and finally! winter i'm itching
for! have come...

i've lived in her vicinity for almost 20 years...
but i've only learned her name today...
Sophie...
                  which i learned from my mother...
who learned it from the father of Jack...
who's she's dating...
i've seen her grow... become a woman...
then again: i didn't really see her grow:
now that she is a woman...
one memory most piquant...
seeing her seeing me sitting at the desk
proclaiming a presence in the window
with last night's circus freak Halloween
make-up... less hangover and more...
recovering from having drank a spiked drink...
some ****-art at best... it almost made me fall:
i had to pick up a slab to balance to get home...
but she saw me in my clown make-up...
and that smile... hmm...
or that time when... her older sister
would parade in the bedroom mermaid naked...
plump *******... then the mother would walk
in... likewise... such mature forms of those "things"...
and the added flab of the torso...
mermaid... half-naked...
then she walked in... how old was she then?
still in her teenage years...
   she just lived across the street...
circa 20 years... she has seen me...
aloof creature...
             still pretty much the most pristine form
of single...
if only i started using those dating apps...
i wouldn't be the one
spending £120 at half a decade's stretch
when prompted by .......
                              a female cat... no... no pandering!
ah! grooming... with her raised ****...
i had to revisit the brothel...
would i be using those dating apps...
isn't social media already: cancerous?!
it's a profile outgrowth of a parasitical nature...
it might be an investment for the future: at best...
at worst... it's a meta-mirror...

another muse... i've had a few...
now she's moving away...
from across the street... to... two doors down...
her boyfriend's father is a builder
and work is underway to recover the structure
from the previous occupant:
a single mother with an autistic boy
who would sometimes take 5 minutes to cross
the street...
a proper carousel lady...
sometimes there might have been
         a man every single week in that house:
but did he fix anything?
no... apparently it will take... 3 weeks to revamp
that house of horrors...
******* beta orbiters...
  would any of them fix anything...
beside probably abusing the kid
and ******* his mother... the boy beefed up...
stopped barking... now they're far away
about to start a new life in... Chelmsford...
somewhere in Essex...
         at least in the brothel you have a sense
of a working environment...
am i living with savages, for, ****'s sake?!
in a brothel you're... well...
there for only an hour...
there's the hour's keep...
         it's not like you can: eat where you take a ****...
i'd summon the moon to the forest
and **** there than keep my house in disarray...
where i might: read... a... ha ha! a book...
eat a meal...
it sounds even more demeaning when
listening to some medieval chants...

oh dear Sophie... she's moving away...
from across the street: two doors down...
this is where the delusional part of me says...
it's because she wants to be close to
her mother... and her boyfriend Jack is doing
the white-flight left available: from East Ham...
to Romford... not much longer...
soon there will be a white-flight from
Romford too... but not yet...

i have experienced women strangely though...
they're still a phenomenon...
i was walking out from my ex-girlfriends house
in Hackney when a "bearded lady":
a woman dressed in a niqab went past
and... unveiled herself...
perhaps i have a bad memory...
but i saw what would be best described as:
too little butter... spread over too much bread...
she looked mutilated...
i stood still and... follow her?
round up all the white knights in the area
and save her?!
eh... then this little quickie... cycling down
oxford street... this one oriental girl flashed herself
on the junction been oxford st. and reagent st.
again: perhaps i need glasses or my memory is
all lies: did she have knickers on...
or... were her ***** trimmed as... imitation
of knickers?!

to borrow from a people that gave names
to their letters: whether the greeks,
the northern men...
hebrews... or the arabs...
perhaps when a people give names
to their letters: something can become of them...
all the greek letters that became
scientifically-mathematical constant:
but not in Latin: as one might /
be expected to sing... or to write with greater
fluidity...

aleph: mim: shin...
    A: M : SH...
mind you... shin is a "doubled" consonant...
since it asks an Islam...
a harsh "Islam" of a consonant H...
to be submissive to S...
when... when coupled with A...
is the genesis of laughter...
-leph -im -in
                   Sophie could have moved far far away...
meta-relationships: investing
in the uncertain future of: from death do us part:
                Jack...

all that's happening is para... phrasing...
sense & sensibility...
pomp & circumstance...
              
  dearest Sophie is moving away...
the day Jack saw me rooted walking back
with two bottle of cider i sort of knew...
i wish i could lend you a cushion to sleep
on... Jack...
but... hey... a woman's fickle mind...
if she's not ensnared and made comfortable
to even adorn the niqab...
i'm your lucky loser... Jack...
if she is allowed old again: and i'm allowed old
age... even in my presence
she'll turn into a budgie:
reading Harlequin novels...

        i'd play a tugging game: i too want
to relieve myself of this life...
on the other hand...
it is SUB-LIME...
ha ha... not sub... lemon?
ha ha...            how words are conjured...
from... prefixes and nouns...
later arrived at...

Sophie is moving away... from across
the street to: two doors down...
might she want a better angle of me...
sometime... toiling in the garden...
psst... let's keep me and you...
a mystery for her...
otherwise... boredom...
expectation... recurrence...
same old... same in... let's become forever
"un-attainble"...
              but i hear whispers from the past...
how courting can happen in the modern
day almost unavoidably...
poor Jack... all the trades: beckon...

IF YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE...
YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE... MOVE...
YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MOVE
ACROSS THE STREET TO BE CLOSE
TO BE CLOSE TO YOUR MOTHER...
MOST DAUGHTERS ABHOR THEIR MOTHERS!

huh?!

i'm delusional! i'm even an adjective prone:
delusionaly 'appy!
poor Jack: he owns a car and works
the Docklands...
i own a bicycle and sometimes the night
and sometimes the forest...
because... i'll walk bare torso into it
and ask for the callings of the owl...
to sooth my drinking habit...

meta-relationships happen... when...
there's an invested hope in...
no death do us part...
         there's a rejuvenation process...

oh to hell! the self-proclaimed wine-making
process can wait...
there's all thought-exclusive...
thinking about the girl: woman
to be...

were diu werlt alle min...
i'm delusional.. of course... of course i am!
such tender lamb!
such impostor i!
                
we're here concerned about making wine.... whine(s)...
wine not whine...
and for that it would: most necessarily require....
a yeast compound:
dried yeast, bentonite...
yeast nutrients: diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid,
magnesium carbonate, thiamine hydrochloride,
zinc sulphate, ferrous ammonium,
sulphate, biotin...

to get things moving...
fermenting... eating itself to give new life...
i won't get into the stabiliser stage
where you'll need sodium metabisulphate
& potassium sorbate...

drink any bottle of alcohol...
it will contain a disclaimer as if vegans
are to be necessarily minded...
it contains... sulphites...
i think i'm excited about making my own
wine...
it only happens once a year...
and i think: if i were only allowed to
make... wine once a year...
i'd have a carnival!
i'd have an ****...
so much so that we wouldn't sip the ******
sip throughout the year:
faking it... seasonally!
we'd eat fruit in the summer...
apples and pears in the autumn...
get ****** mid-way through winter...
while the rest of the year would be:
could be: would be... spent... sobering up...
but only after that **** of drinking and *******!

how it is... so readily available...
for the lowest of man and the highest of man:
likewise... given the same circumstance of: now...
my heart is already broken:
my mind too... what else is there to throw
at the "unexpected"... "surprise" stampede...
boxing my liver into a cubist shape?!

                  i drink some cider: i feel... hungry...
i combat that with drinking some whiskey:
i'm full...
sober, sane, people... if not workaholics...
have so much time spent for / off of them...
i'm drinking hoping that someone
sane diagnosed me as insane...
but... there's little chance of that...

i walk in canoes: size shoe 10up... 11...
i have canoe feet...
people tend to stumble over my shoes
sometimes barricading the most shortened
space between stairs and the civil room...
the living room:
if the t.v. is to be implied as fireplace?
i'll pick up a book to find my eyes: burning!

picking up a book via someone who
wrote about: numeracy of... ******... not ******
partners... talking to someone on the phone
for an hour...
when was the last time i talked to someone
for an hour... wait... i can't remember...
last time i checked i was sending someone
the equivalence of braille...
not my first love... not her...
i was in love with her sister...
in this supposed heaven
there's not *****: no menopause...

so... i turn all crazy at the fold: this...
is... all... that... ever is... or will... be?!
post-science... post-news: fake...
adolescent acknowledgement of the rules of:
hide & seek... rekindled...
it's not like too many people know
how to play the game...
some of us made it so difficult that the rest
of them found it boring...
we turned the game into a war-game...
sharpshooting their presence...
climbing trees and roofs to aim with
imaginary rifles...
the game was lost... everyone lost
interest...
we were beginning to be snipers at
the battle of Stalingrad...
no fun in that... the world moved on...
bored... as ever...

Sophie... what a pretty name...
she's moving...
from across the street...
two doors down...
i just can't wait for the horrors...
it's not like i'm writing this from the perspective
of a perfect husband...
i'm a proper ****-up i never used
a hook-up bribe of app...
submerged myself into:

what came first... the chicken (consciousness)...
or the egg (sub-consciousness)?
i'm pretty sure h. h. holmes was
merely a con-artist...
with a few naive lambs to slaughter...
albert fish though?
needles pointing into his pevlis
while he died: ******* into an electric chair...
another: altogether...
do you mind?

the slaughter of world war I: for kin!
G... the son against the grandson!...
the Hebrews turned into... cattle...
come world war II... willingly they walked
into the slaughterhouses!
said quote: the Jew is what the Arab
now sow via...
a non-important quote...
why lever... thise Semite from a Semite...
such a kippah-tease-of-the-north...
              believe me when i say:
i have venom's worth of eyes for the niqab...
i'm yet to hear about the future
guided by... anti-usury...
i'm not going to hear much from
that "tabernacle"... am i?
                  forget it... you push along...
push forth... you settle down...
have your children...
Darwinism is... primarily applicable
in the anglo-sphere of the zunge...
i'll sleep...
                    Darwinism will never be
French or German equivalent of
existentialism... it... hasn't arrived yet...
it's still basic... form focus...
it wasn't fashionable in 19th century
continental Europe... it's still not fashionable
in 21st... continental Europe creeping in on
the islanders...
                  
the ancient Romans looked at the ape too!
and they too said: well... maybe...
similis!
                     there's nothing ******* new!
the WASP attack on Copernicus...
suggesting... the ancient Egyptians knew just
as much...
well then... given that Darwinism
is so ******* obvious...
the apes knew too!
so they allowed men to conjure up
their pyramids and their coliseums!
while they remained mute...
and via mute: giggle...
pity man...
pity that he might think himself
to remain.

how's that?! i hate Darwinism...
               i don't need to accept it...
it arrived in the mind of one man...
"originally"...
in my mind it arrived as either POP
or plagiarised...
otherwise... exhausted...
i still retain the observational luxury
of keeping: ape...
no? you revive Darwinism with keeping
a man in a cage...
i might respond... then.

— The End —